


Drawing for Marvels: A Steve Rogers Adventure

by wisia



Series: Wisia's Stony Bingo [3]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Noir
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 11:19:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5664232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisia/pseuds/wisia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve only meant to turn in his drawings for Marvels. He didn’t quite imagine finding Tony’s own respective art or the opportunity to have the man pose for him. He’ll take it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drawing for Marvels: A Steve Rogers Adventure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sineala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/gifts), [beckydawolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckydawolf/gifts).



> For the Stony Bingo - free square. Of course, it’s Noir. Because I can’t resist. Still for @sineala and @beckydawolf because I finished it. Now to nap for work after posting this.

They hired him as the artist for _Marvels._ It was a lucky score, and Steve still couldn’t believe his fortune. That Mr. Stark wanted him. Out of all the other skilled artists in the world, Mr. Stark picked him. To illustrate his stories and, gosh, Steve was over the moon. He took special pride in it, being recruited personally by Mr. Stark himself. He had never imagined that he could work for _Marvels,_ let alone for Tony Stark specifically. He devoured every issue with Tony Stark’s latest adventure, and it was more than a dream come true. To that end, Steve busted his ass to turn in the best pieces he could possibly produce.

Except, as Mr. Jarvis brought him in to wait in Mr. Stark’s study, he had to think otherwise. On the walls hung beautiful artwork, famous and expensive pieces of the greats. Things that belonged in museums and curated exhibits. Steve swallowed hard, hoping to hell his work passed muster. Mr. Stark wouldn’t pick him otherwise, but seeing those artworks hanging there he wasn’t so sure now. In fact, the more Steve stared at the lines of gouache or watercolor, his heart plummeted.

No, Mr. Stark picked him and thought he could do an excellent job in bringing Mr. Stark’s stories to life. He shook his head, tightened his jaw and was about to place his packet on top of Mr. Stark’s desk when he saw it. A drawing of some mechanical contraption. Steve couldn’t help it. He dropped his packet and flipped the image around to see better. His jaw dropped.

The lines were beautifully rendered, all straight where it needed to be and wonderfully curved when it wasn’t. There was shading and carefully done details that were so fine a magnifying glass might be needed to highlight them all. Not one ounce of space was wasted, every section used to its best and meticulously planned. Everything about it was gear and machinery perfected, and it was so alive that Steve could have sworn the piece actually moved if not for all the little neatly written annotations in a draftsman’s hand around it. Even then, those notes add depth and weight to the art, made it clear that this was a working piece of craftsmanship caught on paper.

And it was all done by Mr. Stark as evidenced by the signature at the bottom!

“Steve? Jarvis said you brought over your work?” Mr. Stark entered, and Steve couldn’t help the words out of his mouth.

“You draw?” And that was a stupid thing to say because, of course, Mr. Stark could draw. He had to if he personally made the equipment needed for his adventures. However, Mr. Stark looked at him, baffled, as if that idea was simply impossible.

“Uh, no?”

Steve waved the paper in front of him, the art that he certainly could never reproduce himself. “You do. This! It’s, it’s amazing! I don’t—you could do the art for your stories yourself!”

If the man could draw like this, he didn’t need Steve at all, and that made his breathing go a little short, chest tight as if his asthma wanted to make an appearance. Facts were facts though, and even if Steve wanted to work for Mr. Stark he couldn’t possibly compete with the talents of Mr. Stark himself.

Mr. Stark’s lips quirked. “I believe I hired you for that.”

“Yes,” Steve agreed. “But you don’t need me for that!”

“I’m not an artist,” Mr. Stark waved off. “I only do technical designs and so forth.”

“But, Mr. Stark. This is—“ Steve gestured to the art in his hand once more. “It’s amazing. It’s real, as if it’s alive.”

A faint redness came onto Mr. Stark’s cheeks, and he shook his head. “No, I couldn’t. I can only draw machinery as I’ve said. Besides, even if I was able, I have neither the time nor inclination to do it. So, you’re my only hope, Steve.”

That was thrilling to know. He felt so honored that Mr. Stark would think that he was the best hope for his stories.

“But—“

“No more buts,” Mr. Stark stopped him. “Come on. Now, let’s see what a real artist does.”

Saying so, Mr. Stark settled into his chair and retrieved the packet Steve dropped upon his desk. Steve froze. He couldn’t move, not even to sit as Mr. Stark motioned for him to do.

“I think—it’s not good enough, Mr. Stark. I’ll redo them.”

“Nonsense!” Mr. Stark said, taking out the papers. He smiled down at the first piece. Steve chosen to do it in bold contrasts with a few splashes of color. It featured Mr. Stark slipping down the Himalaya Mountains, the enemies hot on his heel. “See. Now, this! This is a real artist, and you do such fine work.”

“I, uh…”

“Take the compliment,” Mr. Stark winked at him. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

“No. I’m lucky to have you, Mr. Stark.” He didn’t think his work quite compare, but he’ll take it. Especially if it got Mr. Stark to smile and wink like that at him again.

“Is this the final?” Mr. Stark asked. He flipped through the rest, studying each piece with an intent eye. “Copies, I mean?”

“Yes,” Steve said, and his heart almost stopped again. Did he thought those weren’t the finals? That was the very best Steve produced. How could he improve it even more?

“You work fast. Such wonderful artwork and in such speed. I hope you didn’t spend all night doing them.”

“I didn’t,” Steve said, relieved. He didn’t admit that he did in fact stayed up late the entire past two weeks working on them.

“I’ll make sure you’re paid accordingly. Extra bonus for the time,” Mr. Stark said, slipping Steve’s drawings back into the packet. He looked down at his own art in Steve’s hand. “You can keep that if you like. It’s not too important.”

“I can?” Steve looked down at the drawing in his hand. A piece of art by Mr. Stark himself! “But don’t you need it?”

“The idea wouldn’t work. I was going to toss it.”

That horrified Steve. How could Mr. Stark think of throwing away this precious piece of drawing? He clutched it tightly, careful not to wrinkle it. “It’s beautiful.”

“Perhaps,” Mr. Stark said. “Is there anything else?”

Caught up in his emotions, and that was the only explanation Steve could give, he blurted out, “Can I draw you?”

Mr. Stark’s eyes widened just a fraction, and he tilted his head at Steve as if he couldn’t believe what he just said. “I’m sorry?”

“Can I draw you?” Steve asked again, more firmly. He refused to be embarrassed by his request. “It’ll, it’ll help with drawing you more accurately for the stories.”

It wasn’t a lie. Steve really need it, but god—if he could sit and stare at Mr. Stark for hours…

“Sure, why not?” Mr. Stark said, standing up immediately. “Would you like to do it now?”

His voice was low, and he undid his tie, loosening the knot of fabric just enough to hang around his neck. Steve felt faint, and his cheeks burned as Mr. Stark settled onto his desk. If his attraction to Mr. Stark didn’t exist before, it sure as hell existed now.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Tony,” he said. “If we’re doing this. I think, something a little more casual. You ought to have me as it is.”

Steve pressed his lips together. He was sure Mr. Stark didn’t mean the way his words sound. Entirely suggestive and doing things to Steve that he thought he needed to get some fresh air and cool his head.

“I, I don’t have paper,” Steve said weakly.

“I have plenty.” Mr. Stark reached over the desk, and Steve thought he could combust with that display of Mr. Stark’s bottom. His rear was so perfectly round, and he definitely needed to cool his head. Steve put Mr. Stark’s artwork down safely, hoping he could pull himself together to draw Mr. Stark. He couldn’t bow out of this opportunity now, nor did he want to bow out.

Steve took the pad and pencil, and Mr. Stark perched himself on his desk once more. The man had rolled up his sleeves, revealing his strong forearms, and everything about Mr. Stark was just beauty. If there was ever a handsome male for this era, it had to be Mr. Stark. He was long lines and round expressive eyes. The emotions that could flicker across that face. Steve’s fingers itched to capture every single one of those emotions, to keep a bit of Tony Stark for himself in his pencils and papers.

“Is this how you want me?” Mr. Stark asked, amusement in his voice. Steve realized the man was laughing at him, having too much delight in Steve’s discomfort. Well, Steve wasn’t stubborn for nothing. He could be a jerk as Bucky said he was.

“No,” Steve said, stepping forward. He looked straight into Mr. Stark’s eyes. “You’re wearing far too much.”

“Oh?” Mr. Stark said, and there was a catch in his breath. “Isn’t that indecent?”

“If you allow me,” Steve said, but it wasn’t quite a request. He tugged that loosened tie off entirely, flicked buttons open to reveal the tantalizing strip of skin to the hollow of throat and the first start of scars on Mr. Stark’s chest, and pulled at the shirt until it was out of Mr. Stark’s pants.

“Oh,” Mr. Stark said softly. His eyelashes were long, framing those eyes where the pupils had gone wide with desire. It sent a tingle up Steve’s spine to know he put it there. “Is that all, Steve?”

Steve smiled, pushed Mr. Stark up further on the desk in answer. His hands were on Mr. Stark’s thighs, and he adjusted them to splay just a little, but he didn’t take his hands away just yet. He skated his palms up, just a a bit as a test, and Mr. Stark’s breath caught again.

“How’s that Mr. Stark? Do you have any objections to the pose?”

“Tony.” Mr. Stark licked the bottom of his lip. His face was so near Steve’s. “I told you call me Tony.”

“Tony,” Steve repeated, but he had barely finished saying that when Mr. Stark kissed him, a gentle press to lips. Mr. Stark drew back, and—

Steve brought his hands up, put them in those soft curls, and kept Tony there. He kissed back firmly, drew Tony back in the best he could, mouth tasting Tony thoroughly and openly. Memorizing the feel of Tony’s tongue on his, the wet hotness of it. He could feel Tony against him, thighs spread to accommodate Steve further, to hold him there. They kissed and kissed until Steve had to pull back for air.

“Steve,” Tony muttered. His lips were red, a little swollen from their activities. “I think—“

“Yes,” and Steve kissed him again. And if they didn’t get to the drawing, well, Steve didn’t regret it. He was sure he could convince Tony to sit for him later.


End file.
